


snapdragons & sunflowers

by CheapNightmares



Series: Quiet Country [2]
Category: Jeepers Creepers (2001)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Other, There's kittens, charley from me on rotttnapple, how dare honestly, it's literally so gotdang perfect, original creeper interpretation by pohocounty on tumblr, so pure, there's flowers, this is so good so soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-10-10 05:02:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20522357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheapNightmares/pseuds/CheapNightmares
Summary: A quiet country afternoon on the farm, sun soaked and as perfect as it gets.





	snapdragons & sunflowers

**Author's Note:**

> Part 2 of the Quiet Country series.

“Jeepers Creepers, where'd you get those peepers? Jeepers Creepers, where'd you get those eyeesss?” Charley sang softly to himself as he carefully dug up snapdragons to replant elsewhere, the one flower Dulu had brought him (almost looked like it was growing out of that huge hand, perched in a warm ball of dirt) was now a multitude, drinking up the warm summer sun. Nearby the coral honeysuckle was making it's ponderous way up the trellis on the side of the house – still unpainted - being visited by hummingbirds and butterflies alike, and farther out in the yard mammoth sunflowers tracked the movement of the sun. A mob of guinea fowl burst from the green stalks, heads swiveling this way and that as they chattered and complained at each other, hurrying across the green to some new destination. 

Charley carefully shook a seedpod of one of the snapdragons and gently pinched it off when it sounded the appropriate rattle, tucking it away in a little cheesecloth bag to be put away for the next year's planting. Dulu had been whistling the tune he was now singing this morning, getting it promptly stuck in his head. Charley could've sworn the man did it on purpose, but the only answer he had ever gotten on the topic was a chuffed little laugh and one of those cheeky half grins that Charley couldn't quite decipher. There was an offended bout of clucking as the guineas upset a few of the chickens ranging more calmly about, scattering fat hens this way and that as the simpler minded fowl ran at them full tilt, not seeming to have much of a care if they moved or not. Up on the back porch Dulu let out a low, hearty little chuckle, though if it was because of the birds or the kittens Charley could not tell. The sound made him smile. 

The old man was settled back in his rocking chair, a great big thing made of heavy old oak, making Charley's seem like something made for a child. Scampering about on the porch were no less than a dozen kittens, a mixed family of a riot of colors. They were five weeks old now and their heads were full of nothing but nonsense, chasing each other around on the worn wood planks, batting the little toys Dulu and Charley had made for them, play fighting, climbing Dulu's tree-trunk legs and leaping off to pounce on their siblings. Charley doubted Dulu was getting much work done, he had been carving something when Charley set off with his arms full of gardening tools. There were simply far too many kittens in need of being picked up and kissed. The kittens were particularly fond of that long white mane, a source of fascination that needed to be batted at until they spazzed out and tumbled off his shoulders and into those large, soft hands.

Ratta-tat-tat. Dulu's clawed toes on the porch planks, drumming softly and followed by the low thunder of many kitten paws as they all raced to pounce on. Charley grins, shaking his head as he sets another ousted snapdragon into one of the green plastic pots, picking up the tray they all sat in and carrying it to another spot a little farther down in the bed, returning briefly for his spade to dig in the rich soil. He peeked up before getting around to his replanting – there was a kitten firmly stuck to the screen and Dulu was indeed kissing another's little head again, dwarfing it as it purred in his hands. Dulu had helped him replace the old tattered screens back here with a tougher material meant to withstand things like kitten claws (or puppy nails) so the youngsters could scale them at will without worry that they would take a flying leap and simply keep going straight into the yard. 

Charley kneeled down to get back to his planting, another one of their feline charges wandering over to butt his head against Charley's hip and melt into a puddle on the ground, purring like a misfiring engine. The old tom sported one eye and three legs, black fur spotted with white scars from countless battles. He had been barely alive when they found him on the side of the road and was still mean as hell. Dulu had been the only one capable of handling 'Slaughter', the only one the cat allowed himself to be handled by. When he came home after his emergency surgery, it was for Dulu that he would eat and drink for. Even weak and bandaged and hurting, Dulu could handle him without concern, the tom had responded to any sort of human touch with teeth and claws and a growl mean enough to make the hair stand up on the back of Charley's neck. Charley had allowed the cat his space, instead instructing Dulu in his care, passing supplies from a safe distance, teaching him how to give shots and coax the cat to take his medications. Even neutered (Charley insisted all their charges have this done, too many babies in the world needed their help) Slaughter relented in his mistrust of mankind exactly not at all. 

Slaughter preferred the outdoors to the indoors, bolting out like his tail was on fire the moment he was released from the nursery. He since resided in the barn, lounging among bales of hay, his yellow eyes luminous in the shadows. Charley had sent Dulu out many times after that, fretting about the three legged boy, worried that he would hurt himself out there. Dulu had dutifully checked and returned to assure him that the cat was perfectly fine.

It was months before Slaughter approached Charley, and months more before he finally seemed to relax enough for the occasional petting - not too much, just a little every now and then. Now Charley smiled at the fat old tom, pulling off a glove to give him a gently rub behind the ears before continuing his work. 

“You've been in the catnip again, hm?” Talking to the kitty as he made a hole in the earth and nestled a snapdragon into it. A bumblebee, only marginally less hefty than Slaughter, bumped into his shoulder before trundling on to sample from the orchids. Charley had planted a 'cat garden' near the barn for their outdoor preferring guests, schlepping Dulu along with him to chat his ear off about the plants as they settled them in. There was the beloved catnip, and cat thyme. There was also licorice root and mint and lemongrass, some of it potted and some of it rooted into the fertile earth, growing among the tiers of cat-towers and hammocks. Slaughter didn't reply, of course, only blinked those bright yellow eyes at him and purred as he puddled there in the sun while Charley gardened. The cat wandered off again before he was finished, still regal despite the loss of his front leg, the bone had been too badly shattered to save. Dulu had been certain to find precisely the car that had hit him and ensured that occupants would never hit another cat and leave it to die ever again.

When Charley stripped off his gardening gloves and carried the tray of supplies, smelling of rich earth and sunlight, up to the porch most of the kittens were asleep, piled around Dulu's big feet, in his lap, draped over broad shoulders. Dulu was back at work again, carving a tiny toy, his wide-brimmed hat settled down over his eyes, humming softly to himself in a sound reminiscent of a mother cat's purr. A few still batted at each other, but the actions were sleepy, lazy and calm. Charley was careful not to let the screened door slam behind him, shutting it gently as he tucked the gardening tools on a shelf just high enough to keep little kittens off, just low enough for him to reach. He checked carefully around his owner rocker for kitty tails and kitty paws, scooping a few off the seat to set in his sun-warmed lap. 

The farm was peaceful, even in the jabber of noise that came from overly cautious guineas, the thoughtful clucking of chickens, the low call of the goats to one another, the soft hush of wind rustling the sunflowers and corn. The crows were always happy to have a buffet of yellow cobs they wouldn't be chased away from, selecting morsels as it ripened under the sun, taking dust baths in-between the rows. It wasn't always like this, there was still ripples in the green from the truck tires of trespassers, rough men with their harpoon guns, but mostly it was. Charley picks up the glass of tea he had left on sweating on the little side table sips at it, still ice cold, just a little hint of honey and mint. Growing up the sweetest thing he ever had was orange juice, southern sweet tea was like getting hit over the head with a five gallon bucket of sugar. Dulu, thankfully, seemed to have no capacity to taste sugar, and thus did not complain about what would be undoubtedly under sweetened for anyone else.

In Dulu's big hands was one of those little mice, it's shape coming out of a block of ivory. Mammoth ivory, Charley had found it on the internet Dulu didn't quite understand (the man was mechanically inclined, not so much electronically). An ivory body and head and legs, with ears made of soft leather, a tail of long braided string. Later Dulu would cover the ivory with thick felt, brown or grey or white – the sweet old man had took one of the books that Charley kept to order supplies out of, to make blankets and hammocks and clothes, pointed out what it was he had wanted. Automatons, was all Charley could think to call them, because the toys that Dulu made for their feline family ran and scampered like real mice, running too and fro, pausing to nibble at invisible cheese before hurrying on again. The first time one had come racing between his feet Charley had squealed, jumped up on a chair like a Victorian lady clutching at her skirts. It took a full minute (and Dulu's deep, booming belly laughs) to realize it wasn't a real mouse at all, but something for the kittens to pursue. And pursue them they did, honing natural instincts to chase and pounce. The last one Dulu had made actually chittered and squeaked, how Charley couldn't quite figure out, but the kittens about lost their minds over it, playing until they couldn't play any longer and collapsed in sleepy piles. 

Charley set his chair at a slow rock, petting over soft baby fur, rubbing behind tiny upright ears, setting his tea aside and tipping back the hat Dulu had made for him – a replica of the wide-brimmed one the big man himself was wearing, just a whole lot smaller. Out in the pasture Speedy and Peaches were grooming each other, two old girls happy to have each other, basking out there in a sea of green. A couple of crows were perched on Peaches' rump, chuffing at each other. The old goats didn't move real fast, they sometimes made fine sun-soaked meeting places for the big black birds to discuss the news of the day with one another.

“It's perfect out here, isn't it?” Charley's voice is soft, as not to wake the sleeping kittens. “There's a whole lot of problems out there in the world but here it's just perfect.” Dulu's low rumble-grunt reply, he didn't talk much but that was fine, Charley didn't mind it any; he smiled, reached over and patted one of those tree-limb forearms. Surrounded by kittens, a yard full of fat critters and plants. A best friend, a life partner at his side, Dulu who brought him out of his shell. Dulu who made him feel safe, who gave him the confidence to take on damn near anything that life decided to throw his way. “The perfect place to just be.”


End file.
